


Not a joke

by ChocoNut



Series: Many ways to say I love you [69]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x2 missing scene, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Jealous Jaime Lannister, Love Confessions, Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Soon after his trial, Jaime is hit by a surprising news about Brienne.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Many ways to say I love you [69]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1234904
Comments: 20
Kudos: 106





	Not a joke

_Why the hell did she keep this from me?_

Burning inside despite the icy winds blowing around him, Jaime kept up a frantic pace, rushing away to the great hall, taking no note of anyone or anything around him. Since his brief word with Pod, only one thought had taken residence in his mind - to seek Brienne out and demand an explanation.

But… by what right could he question her decision? Who was he to pass judgement on her choice?

Not even once in all these years, had he said a single word. For fuck's sake, he’d not even realized it himself! When he’d forsaken his future to uphold her honour, when he’d tried to wash away his soiled reputation in that bath at Harrenhal, and all those times he’d drowned in her eyes, wishing to remain deep within them forever, every gift he’d bestowed upon her, small or big, precious or--

“It is considered common practice to keep your eyes open while walking, Jaime.”

The crispness of the taunt brought him to a halt just inches short of bumping into Tyrion who was standing before him, eyeing him like he was some interesting object warranting a detailed examination.

“I’m in a hurry,” he said, hoping his brother wouldn’t trap him in another web of his winding words, “so if it isn’t important--”

“There is something you ought to know.” Tyrion looked left and right to make sure they weren’t overheard. “Lady Brienne--”

“--has decided to marry Tormund Giantsbane,” Jaime finished the wretched sentence, the prospect of the wench getting into wedlock with anyone other than himself inflicting far more pain than the horrors Locke’s men had showered him with. “Podrick greeted me with the news soon after the trial.”

“And?” Tyrion looked up at him, demanding a reaction, and Jaime, for an odd moment, felt shorter than his brother.

_And… ?_

One word, it was, yet a loaded question, striking him with the second bolt to his heart, a fear that the couple might make haste to exchange vows before the enemy was upon them. 

“Jaime, I’m talking to you.” Arms crossed to his chest and sterner than usual, his brother stood squarely in his path, determined not to let him leave without an answer. “Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

“Do what?” After years of loyalty and blind devotion to Cersei, he held no right to just walk up to Brienne and stake his claim to her heart. He’d pushed everything else aside for his sister’s sake, ignoring his heart, his true feelings for the wench never once seeing the light of the day.

“You’re right,” Tyrion, to his dismay, instantly agreed with him. “I know you harbour a special dislike for her _betrothed_ , but there’s nothing much you can do except--”

“Except?” So helpless and heartbroken, he was, and desperate for a way to tell her how he felt, though it was morally incorrect and highly inappropriate to thrust his love upon her when she’d handed her heart and herself to another.

“Meet her to give her your best wishes and congratulations?” his brother suggested, delivering another well-aimed blow where it hurt the most. “Like a good friend would.”

_Friend._

His chest bound tightly by invisible chains, he felt breathless, his throat dry and barely capable of managing the words when he said, “I should be going.”

“Great hall. By the fire,” Tyrion called out, moving on towards wherever he was going. “That’s where you’ll find her. Make sure you convey your regards.”

So he would, if that was what the gods had in store for him, but not before confronting her about her deliberate move to keep him in the dark about this.

“Ser Jaime.” Brienne rose to greet him. “What brings you--”

“Why, Brienne?” His self-restraint and determination to maintain a steady front crumbled away, all his frustration and despair pouring out at the sight of those astonishing eyes he’d never been able to stay away from. “You could’ve at least told me.”

Her brows met in confusion. “What--”

“I thought we never kept anything from each other,” he complained, hurt and disappointed, “so why, then, did you find it unnecessary to confide in me about something as important as this?”

She continued to show no reaction except surprise. “I don’t understand.”

That angered him even more. Why was she doing this? “You can do better than marrying Tormund Giantsbane!” he snapped under the strain, unable to hold back anymore. “I thought you would--”

“Wait,” she stopped him, her eyes brighter than the flames that crackled behind her. “Whatever made you jump into such an assumption?”

“Aren’t you betrothed to him?” he demanded, coming to the point directly. “Podrick and Tyrion just happened to mention--”

“They were jesting,” she said, her expression clearing. “Going by your brother’s fondness for jokes, I should’ve expected them to take advantage of an unsuspecting newcomer like you.”

“Joke?” he blankly repeated, her denial of the betrothal, the only thing ringing in his head. “Why?”

She smiled, easing him out of his pain. “Today’s something the Northerners call the _Fool’s day_ ,” she explained, making her way towards the fire to warm her hands. “Every year this day, they play pranks on one another, and these two might have decided to enjoy a light moment at your expense.”

Jaime followed her inside. “So--” he felt an uncontrollable need to ask her again “--this means you are not going to wed Tormund?”

With a slight shudder, she shook her head. “I’ve barely even spoken to him.”

The crushing weight lifted, and despite the grim circumstances and the gloomy weather, he felt relaxed and more cheerful than ever. That, of course, was mixed with a growing need for revenge when his brother’s mischievous face floated in his mind, taunting him. But far more overpowering than that, was an unbearable desire to find out what she really thought of him. 

“Let’s do one thing,” he said, standing closer to her than he’d ever been before. He stopped to measure every one of his next few words, his eyes deep into hers, keen to study every flicker of emotion, to seize every sign of reaction on her face. “Tyrion knows I’m here with you. So why don’t you go and tell him and Pod that I have asked you to marry me? Tell them you’ve agreed and we are to become one at the Godswood this evening.”

Her jaw tightened and her lips parted with a slight tremble. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“This is no joke, Ser Jaime,” she said, her voice strained as if every word was a massive effort, “it is--” 

Shielding her eyes, she tried to escape, but he got in her way, his chest a hair’s breadth away from hers, his face close enough to capture her mouth in a kiss. “What is it, Brienne?” he asked again. He wouldn’t let her go this time. With their very existence challenged and their fates hanging in the cold winter air, this might be his last chance.

“I can’t because I--” She broke away again, looking up to bear the full brunt of his eyes.

“Yes, my lady?” he gently prompted, fighting the burning need to touch her, to wrap her in his arms, to taste her, to devour her like a man starved for years.

“Because I can’t have you make light of my feelings for you,” she admitted at last, and even in the dimly lit room, he could make out that she had gone a deep shade of red. “Every thought of you and your sister has been pure torture for me.” He could see the pain in her eyes, the agony he’d felt in the last few minutes reflected in them. “The day I left King’s Landing, I made a choice and accepted my fate, but my mind refused to be rid of thoughts of you, of memories of what had gone by, a non-stop yearning for what could never be.” She lowered her lashes, dropping her voice to a resigned whisper. “You belong to her--”

“ _Belonged_ ,” he corrected, allowing himself the liberty to touch her forehead, her cheek, her jawline, her full lips. “The walk from the ramparts to meet you has been my longest ever, Brienne, every step I took, a stab to my heart, a slow death.” She looked up at him again, and to watch her blossom under his fingers was a pleasure to behold. “To be stalked by visions of your wrist bound to that wildling’s is torture I can’t explain, wench.” He let his lips brush the warmth of hers. “If you had really chosen Tormund or any of these fucking Northerners--”

“You,” Brienne softly made her stand clear, her arms around his neck. “It can never be anyone else.”

He took her in his arms, his lips covering hers in a gentle kiss, soft and sweet, and tender enough for a perfect first. But when she caved in with a helpless moan and her hands all over him, he reached out for something more, kissing her harder and nudging her mouth open, his tongue demanding to be one with hers just like in one of his passionate dreams. He drew her closer when she clumsily kissed him back, the heat in her lips warmer than the fire burning in the hearth, the pressure of her breasts against him, driving him to the pleasurable depths of his wildest fantasies. Lost in her, he kept going, all his defenses down, all thoughts of the war and the anxiety of its outcome, biting the dust. 

And then he pulled away, slowly, reluctantly, only because he had something to ask of her.

“My proposal was no joke, my lady, nor a plan to seek revenge.” Jaime said, his shoulders heaving as he panted. “I really am looking forward to seeing you at the Godswood this evening.”

Her smile was her consent. “You happened to pick the wrong day for this, Ser Jaime, but--” She paused to take his hand in hers. “It’ll do.”

He led her out of there, holding on to her hand like his life depended on it. “Time to find Tyrion and Pod and tell them that their little _trick_ to unsettle me has had its desired effect.”

Blissfully content and feeling blessed, he walked by her side, vowing to cherish for life, the gift of such companions and the woman who had chosen to love the man behind the Kingslayer.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So here's my 1st-April entry, a day behind the calendar, but better late than never.  
> Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed another bit of fluff.


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